The Visionary

In the liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s, Juni experienced the first of what she would later describe as “visions”. She’d just gotten off of work and arrived home after dark. She fell into her usual post-work routine, and then it hit her. A character. A place. A murder. She whipped out her phone and opened up a blank page and began frantically writing it all down. She didn’t consider herself a writer in any form, yet whatever it was that popped into her head compelled her to commit the vision to text. So she did.

The first story spawned more, like veins spidering out from a heart. Juni found herself at her computer clickety-clacking away during all of her free time. The characters, whoever they were, demanded that their story be told. She hardly ever read any books, so she thought it was strange that she was writing one. Knowing little about the craft of writing or how “real” authors might do their work, Juni assumed the visions she kept getting were just part of the process.

It was strange and cyclical, the way she wrote her novel. First she’d get a vision, a scene so vivid in her mind that it was like a movie was playing out behind her eyes. She could see and hear every detail in the scene, and feel every emotion the characters felt. The vision would bother her, pulling on her hair and whispering in her ear until she committed it to written word. Once she penned the scene, it would finally leave her alone. Then there’d be a period of stillness where she waited for the next scene to come. She’d spend this time listening to music or scrolling through her Pinterest app, gathering inspiration. Then, out of the blue, another vision would appear and she’d begin writing again.

This went on for six months. All of her other hobbies fell aside. She did the bare minimum needed to keep her job and attend to her important relationships. And after all of the visions had come and gone, she was left with a novel. A book that she had written. It was a murder mystery story, set in the early 90’s. Where it had come from, she had no clue. But it was hers, and she was proud of it.

She contacted an old friend from college, Colleen, who’d become a book editor. She wasn’t sure Colleen would care much to hear from an old sorority sister, but the convenience of social media made it easy for Juni to send her a message just to see. After telling Colleen about the book she’d written, Juni was shocked when Colleen asked to read the first chapter. It seemed she was in a lull between clients and didn’t mind giving her feedback. Juni sent off her self-edited chapter on a Friday morning and spent an anxious weekend wondering what Colleen would think.

On the following Tuesday, she was surprised when Colleen reached out and asked for the full manuscript. “This is really fresh,” she’d said in her Facebook message. “I think I might have some agent friends who’d be interested in this.”

Juni was shocked, but eagerly sent off the full manuscript. Another nervous, nail-biting week went by and Colleen asked to set up a Zoom meeting between herself, Juni, and one of her colleagues in the publishing industry.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Maxine the literary agent said. “I’d be interested in pitching it. These ideas are so fresh, so interesting. It’d really shake up the genre and still be marketable.”

“Thank you,” Juni said nervously. She didn’t feel like a real writer, let alone someone who ought to have something published. She didn’t feel as if she’d even done anything special. She had no control over the visions or where they came from. She felt at the mercy of whatever it was that brought her those characters and scenes and pestered her until she wrote them.

Nonetheless, she signed an agreement with Colleen and Maxine. She’d work with Colleen on editing the manuscript and then prepare a pitch package with Maxine. They set a tentative date to go out on submission and the work began.

Time flew by as the trio perfected Juni’s novel. And by the time it was ready to pitch to publishers, word had already begun to spread about the murder mystery novel written by a postal clerk from Nebraska. Before she knew it, Juni not only had one offer to buy the book, but several competing offers. Maxine ensured they got the best deal and everyone signed the contract. Juni was to become a published author.

The book hit the shelves and readers eagerly gobbled it up. Juni chose to stay in her mostly quiet, anonymous life despite the success. She had already been pestered about more books and she was fearful that she’d be discovered for the fraud that she was. The visions seemed to have stopped. There were no more stories or characters coming to her. Was she a one-hit-wonder? Was this one little burst of fame and fortune both the beginning and the end of her career as a writer?

Then the Washington State Police called. Apparently someone had read her book and felt there were some uncanny similarities between the characters and plot and a cold case from the 90’s. Juni was stunned, having never even visited Washington, let alone heard about any of their unsolved murders. How would she explain that everything in her novel came to her in visions? It sounded supernatural, because in a way, it was. It was unexplainable. Nonetheless, she took the detectives’ calls and answered everything she could truthfully.

“You see, we actually checked out a previously unexplored location based on something the killer in your novel describes,” Detective Smith explained to her. “And we found a clue linked to the victim. It’s the first lead we’ve had in decades.”

“I don’t know how to explain it other than coincidence,” Juni sputtered. “Nothing in my book was based on real life events.”

“Your records indicate that you were about a year old when the murder occurred, so of course you’re not a suspect in this case,” he said, clearly picking up on her defensiveness. “But do you know if any of your relatives lived in or visited Washington in 1992?”

“Not that I know of,” she said. “I can take a lie detector test. You can interview any of my living relatives. My family is not connected in any way to this case.”

“Right, right,” he said. “You got all of the inspiration for your novel from visions.”

Juni sighed deeply. “Is there anything else you need from me?” she asked.

After more interviews from the Washington State Police, Juni and her family were eventually cleared. They were notified, however, that since one scene from her novel led to new clues, the detectives were scouring the book for more leads.

And, to the surprise of everyone, most of all Juni, the police were able to track down and identify the real murderer. After three decades, the cold case was solved. And there was absolutely no connection to Juni and her family. After the dust had settled, Detective Smith flew out to Nebraska to meet with Juni.

“Deborah Flint’s family is grateful for your assistance in solving this case,” he said. “If you ever come out to our neck of the woods, I’m sure her adult children would like to meet you. But what bothers me is that I still can’t understand how your fictional book gave us the clues that allowed us to finally solve the case.”

“My creative process is a mystery, even to me,” Juni said with a laugh.

“I want you to take a look at the photos of Deborah and of the murderer, Laney Peterson,” Detective Smith said, sliding a manila folder across the café table to Juni. The detectives had withheld all of their information about the case while things were still underway, so this was a welcome surprise.

Juni slid open the folder and gazed upon the aged, grainy portrait of a 20-something woman and a more recent mugshot of a man. Even though she’d described her characters as accurately as she could in her book, there were surely details from her visions that never made it onto the page. She herself had wondered how close the visions had been to the real life people whose story ended up being eerily similar to her fictional novel.

Juni’s face flushed pale and her hands went cold. Deborah and Laney looked nearly identical to the victim Georgia and murderer William in her story. “That’s crazy,” Juni said. “I, I don’t know how to explain any of this,” she stammered.

“It sure as hell baffles us,” Detective Smith said with a good-natured laugh. “But I think what we all want to know now,” he said, steepling his fingers together, “is if you’ve had any more of these visions, as you call them.”

“No,” Juni admitted, uncomfortable heat welling up in her face. Not that Colleen or Maxine could make her forget it. The publishing world was already barking down her neck, asking for more writing from her. But without the visions, she had nothing.

“Ah, just as well,” Detective Smith said, collecting the manila folder and tucking it back into his briefcase. “Call if you do,” he said, handing her a business card. It wasn’t even his card or anyone’s card from Seattle. It was to someone at the FBI headquarters in Washington D.C. “And maybe call before getting it published. Don’t wanna tip off the suspects, ya know?” he said with a grin.

Everyone was watching the breakout novelist and apparent psychic medium for more clues about other unsolved cold cases. “Right,” Juni said with a laugh, running her finger over the edges of the business card in her palm.

After Detective Smith left, Juni attempted to go back to her normal life. She still kept her job at the post office, though she didn’t need the income. She just liked the routine. Without more visions, she had nothing to write about and seemed to have flopped as a career writer anyway. Occasionally readers would show up to the post office and try to get her to sign their books. Some true crime fans even stopped by to ask her about other cold cases. Maxine and Colleen pestered her nonstop for the next bestseller. But Juni left them all disappointed, her one-time gift of visions dried up and gone.

It seemed as if her life had returned to normalcy when out of the blue, just as abruptly as the first vision appeared, she received another. A new character. A new place. A new murder. Vivid, electric, and oh so real. But this one took place in the present day. The vision pestered her, gnawing on her skin and poking her in the ribs. With no other choice, she summoned herself to the computer keyboard to clickety-clack away again, begging the vision to give her peace. She sent a quick email to both Maxine and Colleen, saying that she was back, but giving no additional details. Instead, she called the number on the business card she’d taped to the side of her monitor.

“You don’t need to explain it,” the woman on the other end said. “We’ve dealt with psychic mediums before.” She was so casual, as if this were an ordinary occurrence. “Just none that are as good as you! You’re a visionary! How about we get you on the next flight to D.C. and see if we can’t sort out this next murder mystery before it hits bookshelves.”